Salvation
by Shinigami's Brush
Summary: It signified a boy, no, man, who had so much blood on his hands that the crimson stains would never wash away. Duo made a promise to himself, deep with his soul, that he would save the boy who was silently crying inside. Pre-Operation Meteor.


**Salvation**

_

* * *

Falling... who was falling? Dropping? A boy? Was it him? No, the boy was different. Shorter hair. Green tank top. He himself was in the air. Suspended. Slowly descending. Safe. The other in danger. Going to crash. Sand. No help. Too high. Too fast. Too much. Anxiety. Desperation. Companionship. Horror. **Fear**. Swallowing him. Engulfing him whole. Piercing his soul clean through._

_Fear for who? Him? No. The boy... Mouth opening. A deep breath to shout._

Bang.

Duo whimpered as he curled in his body on the wooden floor, cradling his head. He had fallen out of bed. Sweat beaded across his body, sending chills through his narrow frame. Blankets were in messy disarray around his thin waist. His hands clambered to behind his neck as his fingers scrabbled for his braid. When his fingers found what they were searching for, he grabbed it with a trembling hand and brought if forward. He held the brown rope tightly his his grasp, ignoring the tugging at his head. His braid was a bit on the short side, but the comfort and security it provided far outweighed the small sensation of pain. His breathing was faster than normal, coming in quick pants. His eyes were wide open, violet irises unseeing reality, his mind whirling at a chaotic speed.

Who was that? He couldn't recalling seeing such a face before, even on the streets on a random passerby. Such a face didn't seem to fit with the everyday strangers out on the streets, their visages just a grey blur in his mind, only a part of their appearances imprinted in Duo's memory. That person's expression... he thought. It was hard, stern, and unforgiving. It was the mark of a soul, far older than its body, having seen the dark side of life far too early. It signified a boy, no, man, who had so much blood on his hands that the crimson stains would never wash away. It gave proof of the silently crying soul inside.

Duo had encountered a being before. He wouldn't, couldn't, call it a man. It had the physical appearance of a normal human, with two arms, two legs, five fingers, and five toes, but it was his expression that gave the boy knowledge of his true nature. A deep feeling in his gut told him there was a great sense of _wrongness _with the thing. He wasn't human. He was a demon in disguise wearing the skin of a poor, dead soul.

The mouth was curved upward in a smile. The corners of the lips were stretched tightly to the edges of the face. The teeth were yellow and black, broken in a disorganized fashion with holes in between. What could pass as a severely compressed nose was glued crookedly above the mouth. The head was both wide and thin at the same time. One cheek remarkably unblemished while the other was thick and puffed up. It gave the being a sense of asymmetry. Under it all, was a thick tube-like neck barely supporting the head at an awkward angle. Hair hung around in clumps of stringy material, having a snake-like appearance.

However, it was what Duo saw in the being's eyes that gave him shivers down his spine.

The eyes were an hollow, blank black. They were flat and glassy, containing no shred of humanity left in them. Deep within those depths, though, was a spark of life... and hopelessness. It had given up, reducing itself to the lowest of the low.

Duo had watched as the being was carried away securely between two law-enforcers, its legs wobbling dangerous to the side, an empty bottle of some alcoholic beverage clasped loosely in its hand. In a cracked, broken voice, it sang a tuneless ditty with a slight upward lit, imparting a jovial tone. The words, yet, were anything but.

_Round and round the world may go,_

_The boat of the underworld I do go row._

_I'll meet the devil and dance right now,_

_and when I'm done I'll give a bow. _

Endlessly, the being sang drunkenly, and as it was ushered into the vehicle that would that him to its next destination, it suddenly raised its voice, as if sensing its time was near.

_In the flames I will perish,_

_for sickening health I will dance._

_For death is forevermore my master,_

_and I am eternally his slave!_

Just as the car's doors had slammed shut, a hand clapped on Duo's shoulder and the boy jumped in fearful surprise. He breathlessly had turned around, tense. When he saw who it was, he blinked. It was Father Maxwell, his guardian. The man looked wearied, tired.

"What was that, Father?" he had asked in a small, tremulous voice. The priest closed his eyes, as if pained. He didn't speak for a long while.

"That was a poor soul, Duo," he finally said. "A man who is past the point of redemption in the eyes of God." The little boy looked confused, and tipped his head to the side curiously.

"But you said anyone could be redeemed, as long as they have faith in Him." Father Maxwell had sighed and took little Duo's hand in his own, calloused one.

"I did, didn't I?" he murmured. "That is true, most of the time." He ended his explanation vaguely and Duo frowned, not satisfied. He tugged on the black, wide sleeve, wanting an answer.

"Wasn't that Mr. Hatter? The one with Mrs. Hatter? The lady who always came with the yummy, warm chocolate-chip cookies every Sunday to church for everyone?" The priest's expression tightened, unsure of what to say.

"That was Mr. Hatter," he had answered curtly, but Duo was not satisfied and plodded along.

"What did he do? Father Maxwell?" There was no reply, only a tense silence and the boy knew better than to prod. He wisely shut his mouth and followed the man back to the orphanage. Later, he had found out what had exactly happened, and wished he didn't know.

The being, previously known as Mr. Hatter, had suddenly been overtaken by a mad fit of rage at home in his kitchen. In this blinded state, he had grabbed the nearest object to his hand and proceeded to viciously attack his wife. Unfortunately, the object he had seized a hold had been a knife. When his right state of mind returned to him, it only took two glances at the scene for him to go mad. One was at the cold, dead body of his wife, while the other was the gleaming blade covered in his wife's blood in his very own hand. Then, he fled out into the night with knife in hand, killing or severely wounding any female passerby he ran across. It was late morning when the authorities had managed to find him at a seedy bar drinking himself into a hollow shell of a man. He was resigned to his fate, coming to a clear state of mind in the middle of the night, or early morning. He had given up on life.

That boy... Duo thought, was the same. He had the same feeling of hopelessness, of despair around him, surrounding like a black, mobbing swarm. "He", being the very boy that haunted his dreams constantly like a ghost, the boy he felt a certain kinship to for some unknown reason. The violet-haired boy didn't want him to end up like the ex-Mr. Hatter, all broken like a marionette with its strings cut.

Suddenly, Duo was aware of the beginnings of sunlight peeking in through his window. The warmth slowly crept sideways over his bed, drenching the white in yellow brightness. He turned his head around with a wince, a blue-clothed arm rising to block the onslaught of light. His eyes squinted to give his irises time to adjust. Was it morning already? When he had woken up it had been dark still... Around him, he could hear shifting and voices pass through the thin wooden walls as the other residents of the orphanage awoke and prepared for the day.

Duo knew he only saw the boy in his dreams, but a strong, peculiar feeling in his gut told him that this was no ordinary dream, that this was for real. If anything was right, it was his gut. It had never been wrong, and never will be wrong. He determinedly tightened his mouth, his thoughts fueling his decision. If he ever came across this boy, Duo would be sure to save him before it was too late, before it was past the point of forgiveness and atoning for sins.

He raised an open hand towards the source of morning luminescence, casting a shadow over his face. He had a calm, serene expression. All the meanwhile, he made a promise to himself, deep with his soul, that he would save the boy.

Duo clenched his hand tightly over the light.

He would.

* * *

This is a snippet of what I imagined happened during Duo's childhood before the Maxwell Massacre, when he's still young and innocent mostly. I think that shows through. Originally, I was going to have this focus on Duo having a foretelling dream, and then go out to play in the town, when all of a sudden he seems a familiar tussle-haired brunette and gives chase. Then, they run around in circles until said brunette trips and gets tackled by the braided menace. Then, somehow, Duo convinces Heero, for that's who the other boy is, to accompany him to a park. There, they form a hesitant friendship.

I suppose this could've been a short, multiple-chapter story with the two of them bonding if I went that way... and then an abrupt farewell when Heero fails to show up and there something left behind... a letter maybe? Or perhaps a sort, curt note that leaves poor Duo in tears. Then, years later in a sequel, they meet up and all havoc ensues from that point on forward...

But, then Mr. Hatter decided to come and changed the direction of the one-shot. He was supposed to be a mad and crazy, with no pity possible, but that ruined by policy of how it's impossible to have bad guys without a just reason.

I believe this is my first one-shot in fanfiction... Writing this has left me in a pensive, thoughtful state. I think one-shots are in a way, a writer's therapy. I realize in my other story _Of Masks and Mirrors_, I've lost some of that sense of reality and humanity. That leaves me with a lot to consider. _Or_, I could just be better at writing... PWP's, I believe it what they're called, PWP's, with young children as they main focus. Now that's a thought... considering my age. Or perhaps it's because of my age? Or something else entirely.

I've noticed that this AN at the end has grown rather long. I apologize for any grammatical errors or other such things. I also apologize for the length of this AN, since most of it is my babbling resulting from the aftermath of a chapter, or in this case, a one-shot. I shall take that as a good sign, since it might mean I'm making a return from wherever I've been for the past couple months!

Thanks for reading!

Review?

Love,

Shini


End file.
